Page 88 of Beneath the Stain
Trav slid his hand, warm and comforting, to the back of his neck. “Not going away,” Trav murmured near his ear. “Can’t promise we’re going to be lovers, but I’m not going away.”
Mackey turned his head and looked longingly at Trav’s straight-up brown eyes. “That’s mean,” he said after a minute. “Not being lovers. That’s not the good way for this to end. Just being friends is—”
“Is probably what you need right now,” Trav said patiently, and Mackey was going to get mad at him, but damn. He just looked so good.
Narrowing his eyes in resolution, Mackey turned so they were facing each other instead of side by side. While everyone else was engaged, he took a step into Trav’s personal space, liking the heat of his broad chest and way his cheeks and chin were absolutely clean of strawberry-colored stubble.
Very deliberately he reached out his calloused index finger and traced the curve of Trav’s upper lip, and then his lower lip. He was in midcurve when Trav’s whole lower lip plumped up, grew softer, and Mackey stroked it carefully and grinned with extreme impudence.
“If we were touching below the waist, would I feel your ‘friendship’?” Mackey asked, not giving an inch.
Trav scowled and took a step back. “If you grope me in the waiting room, you’re going to feel the same friendship that got you here,” he growled.
Mackey took a step right into his space. “You’re still wearing the cast, smarty-pants. You feel so bad about that whole thing, there’s no way you’d hit me again.”
“Mackey,” his mom said, looking over at the two of them meaningfully, “the boys are taking Shelia to the dining room. They’re going to get some ice cream—what flavor do you want them to bring back?”
Mackey grinned. “Chocolate/strawberry,” he said, because the machine swirled them both together. “What flavor do you want, Trav?”
Trav looked suitably grim for ice cream. “I’ll go get you an extra helping,” he said meaningfully.
Mackey sighed, resigning himself to a conversation with his mother.
Feeling vaguely haunted by all those times he’d gotten in trouble at school, Mackey walked his mom to one of the tables in a corner of the room, in the sun.
“He seems nice,” his mom said as they sat down and the others disappeared around the corner.
“He’s a hardass,” Mackey said, meaning it, “but in a good way. Keeps us from losing our shit, you know?”
“Yeah, well, he was stressing about a press conference right before we left—had a couple of nasty arguments about it yesterday. You may want to get him to let his ugly bugs out of his panties and tell you what all the fighting’s about.”
Mackey hmmed. “Yeah, he texted me yesterday. Wants to know when Blake and I are ready for this. I told him Blake’s a pro, same as me. We can do one from rehab, get the brouhaha all over with before we leave.”
“What brouhaha?” his mom asked, and for a disconcerting moment, he felt older than she was.
“It’s a big deal when public people go to rehab,” he said, echoing something Gerry had said a long time ago. “So we’re going to have to talk, and I’ll probably do the big ‘Yeah, I’m gay, so what’ thing. It’ll be fun! Like the fucking ballet, right?” Gerry had made them go to one of those when they’d played New York—something about a swan. Mackey remembered doing blow off of some guy’s dick in the bathroom and, really? Not much else.
Mackey’s mom searched his face and then covered his hand with her own. “Mackey?”
“Yeah?”
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit what?”
“Bullshit that’s what I’m here to talk about. I’ve seen your press releases. I even collect all your magazine articles. I’ve kept the card from every bouquet of flowers you boys have sent me. But I haven’t had a real conversation with you in over a year, and now you’re in rehab, and you look like hell. Tell me something real, baby.” Her mouth pinched tight, and her eyes grew overbig. He remembered that expression from the times she’d come to pick him up for fighting, from the times he’d gotten in trouble for cutting school. She hadn’t known he was getting bullied at school, and she sure hadn’t known he was sneaking off to see Grant, but she’d knownsomething.
Mackey blinked slowly and lowered his head to the table, pressing her hand to his cheek. “It’s okay, right?” he said helplessly.
“Is what okay?” she asked, lowering her chin to balance on her free hand. For a moment he could close his eyes and pretend they were on the bed, watching television, and he was fourteen and confused and frightened, but everything was all right.
“I’m gay.”
“So you said,” she said, and he opened his eyes to see the gentle smile on her face. “I probably sort of knew, Mackey.”
“Yeah?”
“That night after prom, I gave you crap about the hickeys on your neck. You didn’t say anything, and I kept expecting a girlfriend—but nothing. No girl. Ever. You’d have hickeys or love bites, but you never went on a date. You never talked about a girl. I’m sure the boys had girls throwing themselves up on the stage once you all started performing—but not once were you late because you got lucky.”
